Dice Control
by Whiscash
Summary: Cuphead always had a talent for getting himself into hot water; with all the folks telling him not to mess with King Dice, he never stood a chance. (Post-game DiceCup shenanigans)


**Dice Control**

 **by Whiscash**

 **pairing:** Cuphead/King Dice

 **warnings:** gambling, smoking, mild threat? nothing much worse than the game though.

 **notes:** whoopsie, I tripped and fell into a steaming cuppa...dice? Lowkey been wanting to write something for these fellas for a while now, like the enemyshipping trash I am, so here is Something! Cuphead is around 20-22 here - like, personally I generally headcanon the cupbros as around late teens/early 20s-ish anyway, but everyone has different interpretations and that's cool! But yup, he's definitely an adult in this here fic c:

Thanks so much for reading and feedback is always very much appreciated! :D

* * *

Since he was a tiny sippy cup trying to crawl out of his crib, Cuphead's always had a talent for getting into some kind of hot water or other.

It's not like he runs around deliberately _looking_ for trouble – well, most of the time, anyway. He'd just always been a curious kid – too curious, Elder Kettle always said, for his own good, not to mention Mugman's – and the second anyone told him he couldn't go climb that tree, or pester that flower, or play over on that side of town, that curiosity bubbled over into a stubborn need to find out _why_ , and to prove them wrong. Cuphead was never scared: he always had Mugman, after all, and they always had a plan. And if sometimes that plan ended up with him taking a couple chips to the head, picking thorns out of his straw or getting a nonexistent earful from Elder Kettle about how he wasn't mad, just _disappointed_...well, it was still better than never knowing, sitting with thoughts of the fun he might've been missing stirring around in his head all day.

But _everyone_ knew about the Devil's casino, even on their sleepy corner of the isle. More horror stories of good, honest folks getting scammed out of their hard-earned coins by that no-good King Dice seemed to spring up by the day. Everyone across Inkwell had their own stories to tell, but they'd all end with the same warning to anyone who'd listen: if you know what's good for you, stay away from that casino. They'll chew up your cash, spit you out and leave you runnin' right back for more. Of course, couple of nice boys like Cuphead and Mugman – _they_ probably wouldn't even dream of going near a place like that, now would they?

Really, right from the word 'don't', Cuphead never stood a chance.

The moment they crossed those railroad tracks, those gaudy lights called to him, twinkling almost flirtatiously with their invitation to 'TRY YOUR LUCK'. Well, Cuphead's sure done _that_ – his luck, Mugman's, and half of Inkwell's along the way – more than enough for a lifetime. He'd probably used most of it up in making it out alive the first time, never mind the second, and yet…

He's back here, still drawn in by those lights like a siren song, looking up at the casino still standing, brazen and shameless, a blazing beacon against the inky sky like nothing's changed. But _everything's_ changed: the first time, he'd come to satisfy that ever-yearning curiosity. The second, returning to do the right thing, fixing the almighty mess they'd – okay, _he'd_ – made. This time, he's here for...well, the truth is, Cuphead doesn't really know why, just that he is here. For closure? To remind himself how far they'd come, relive the terrifying, triumphant moment they'd snatched victory from the Devil's own jaws?

He doesn't have to go in, a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Mugman reminds him: he can still turn around and head home, quit while he's ahead. The casino's bound to be swarming with enemies still out for his head, and no amount of money is worth risking what they barely escaped with last time.

And maybe, if his brother were actually here, this time Cuphead might've listened to him. He might have been strong enough to drown out the other voice – the cocky, fearless one that's always been there, whispering that he's already been through hell, and then some. He's taken on all the worst hands that place could possibly deal him at once and he's _won_ – so is there really such harm in playing a few games? It's not like he's gonna get suckered into betting anyone's soul this time around. Last time, they'd sent the Devil packing, so why _shouldn't_ he strut right on in like he owns the place?

That voice wins, and it propels him forwards to push open the doors and step into the casino foyer with a familiar giddy rush of anticipation. Inside, the place is just as glamorous, everything running as slick and smooth as ever – no trace of the busted-up machines and scattered cards they left behind last time. Last time, just after they'd finished with –

"Well, well. Lookee what the kettle spat up."

Cuphead's train of thought screeches to a halt as he spins around; he's been anticipating that gruff voice since he walked in, but it's something else being confronted with King Dice in the flesh again – or whatever he's made out of. He stands neatly blocking the way to the casino floor with his hands on his hips, a fraction of the size he was last time they'd met, but no less intimidating with his trademark menacing grin and two lackeys flanking him: a cigar and a tall stack of chips, who both look a lot less welcoming.

" _Mister_ King Dice," Cuphead greets him, drawing the word out as sarcastically as he dares as he puffs up his chest and looks him square in the eyes. "How's the head?"

Dice declines to answer that, tilting his head with a soft _tch_ somewhere between irritation and amusement. "You got some guts showin' your mug around here again, I'll give ya that much. Come all this way just to gloat?"

"Nope. Well...maybe just a little." He can almost hear Mugman's panicked voice telling him just to _hush up_ before he ends up in another bust-up, but something in Dice's unflappable front just spurs him on to remind him _he's_ the one who should be watching his back after the number they did on him last time. "But mostly just here to win. Kinda what I do – if your memory ain't so good these days."

"Want me to toss him out, boss?" the cigar asks, glowering like he's been itching to do just that since he laid eyes on Cuphead again. Boy, some fellas were just _awful_ sore losers.

"Hold it a sec, Wheezy." King Dice looks him up and down, sending a chill down Cuphead's spine as he attempts to square up to him – annoyingly difficult when he still only just comes up to his chest. "Let's shake him down first."

"Wha – _hey!_ " Cuphead's bravado gives way to an embarrassing yelp as tobacco-stained gloves seize his arms, hoist him into the air and shake violently. The liquid in his head churns and splashes until his vision blurs and coins spill out of his pockets.

Wheezy drops him and Cuphead just about bats away the yellow stars orbiting his head in time to see Dice's face light up with greed.

"Aww, cupface, you brought us some apology gifts! Ain't that sweet, boys?" He rubs his hands together with glee before nodding at the Stetson-clad stack on his other side. "Well, I'm sure not gonna say no to that dough. Chips – escort our _special guest_ to the floor, would ya?"

Cuphead scrambles to gather up his coins – a good amount of his earnings from odd jobs across the isles with Mugman, as a kind of attempt to make up for the soul-collecting shenanigans – and Chips hesitates, until Dice flaps a hand at him impatiently.

"Go on – split, 'fore I change my mind. Here's hopin' Lady Luck smiles on ya tonight," he adds, shooting Cuphead an ominous wink before leaning in to mutter something to Wheezy, and the pair stalk off down the corridor.

And just like that, he's in; Chips pretty much shoves him onto the casino floor, with a growled aside to "watch yourself, short stack", and Cuphead's swept right back into the action with the rest of the throng, all talking, laughing and gambling the night away without a care. A few of the dealers shoot him dirty looks, but he doesn't care – he even waves cheerfully back at them as he passes their tables. After all, he's not looking to start any trouble tonight.

Not knowing just what he _is_ looking for, let alone the odds of finding it here – truth is, that's all part of the thrill, the indefinable allure of danger that keeps them all coming back. He wanders the floor, stops by different games – roulette, baccarat, blackjack – but he always comes back to the craps table. There's something about those damned dice, despite – or maybe because of – how they led to his downfall the first time. Every roll feels like holding the world in his palm, every throw containing infinite possibilities in that split second before the pips reveal his fate – they could give the winner the world, or take it all away in a blink.

So that's how he ends up right back where it all started; losing some, winning more, whooping and hollering and groaning along with the others. But he's not the same cup that walked in here what feels like several lifetimes ago, wide-eyed and naive and blinded by glitz and glamour and empty promises. This time, Cuphead remembers what he's playing for; not just to satisfy his own selfish greed, but for Mugman, for Elder Kettle. They've always insisted money doesn't matter, as long as they have each other, but his family still deserves all the swell things, the best life they can possibly have. If Cuphead has any shot at giving it to them, after coming so close to losing everything, he has to take it.

He just hopes they won't be waiting up for him as the night's drawing to a close and he's about to bow out of the next game. Ready to cash in his chips and head home, he turns to leave – but barely avoids bumping into an immaculate lavender waistcoat instead.

"Ain't this some deja vu all over again?"

Cuphead's not exactly surprised that Dice's been watching, just that it took him this long to corner him. "You been keepin' tabs on me all night?"

" _You_ thought I was just gonna let ya waltz back in here and try to run our good, honest establishment outta business?" He has a fat cigar dangling between his lips, and it quirks upwards in what could be either a grimace or a grin. "But don't go feelin' special or nothing. I got eyes on _all_ the little finks who come through here thinking they can take us for a ride. Just take a guess where the rest of 'em end up."

Cuphead frowns, a little rattled at being treated like just another common thief. "And you think I'd really come back here just to cheat?"

Dice snorts, almost coughing on his cigar before he removes it to huff out a gravelly chuckle. "What – you go runnin' around doing the boss' dirty work, busting up half the deadbeats in Inkwell, but now _here_ you got morals? Say," he continues, head swivelling as he glances around, "what happened to your partner in crime, anyway? Ya pawn him off for extra coins?"

"Mugman? He's not – we don't go _everywhere_ together." Something like guilt tightens in Cuphead's chest, because they _were_ partners, and going anywhere without his brother used to be as unthinkable as leaving his own head at home. Mugman would know better. If Cuphead told him, he wouldn't be mad – well, he might be a little mad, but mostly he'd just be hurt, and confused. He wouldn't understand _why_ in the world he'd ever want to come back to this awful place – and how could Cuphead expect him to when he doesn't even know himself? All he knows is, whatever hot water he might be getting himself into this time, he has to keep Mugman out of it.

None of that's any of Dice's beeswax, but he nods knowingly. "I called that one from the start. Kid got more common sense than's good for him – he woulda been a lot tougher to convince. But _you_ played right along!" He beams, wide and toothy and almost...proud? "I admit, I was curious what the big cheese had planned for ya. Little rough 'round the edges, sure, but the way you were tearin' through them debtors...I reckon with the right incentive, you coulda fit right in here."

"I…" His finger already itches to send that sickeningly smug grin flying again, just so Dice's beady eyes will quit lingering on him like...like _he_ sees something in Cuphead he's been pushing as deep down as it'll go, stirring up feelings he's not ready to face himself. The worst thing isn't even all the people he hurt collecting those contracts – it's remembering how somewhere along the line he'd started to...not _enjoy_ fighting them, but maybe get some kind of thrill out of it, putting his life on the line so many times and just barely emerging victorious. Almost as though the whole thing, his friends' _souls_ , was all just some kind of...

Game.

"Well, you reckoned wrong, didn't ya?" he snaps, sharp as the guilt twisting in his stomach. " _We_ were stronger than you. Me and Mugs burned all the contracts. We freed everyone. It's all over."

" _All_ of 'em? You sure about that?" Dice tilts his cubic head towards the other tables, all the employees and customers still hustling and bustling and drinking and dancing, as full of life as ever. "Well, at least I know you ain't countin' cards. Here's the thing: bailing out a couple dozen deadbeats don't make a blind bit of difference. People are gonna keep on coming through those doors – they're gonna keep playing, keep winning, keep losing. And eventually, some of 'em are gonna get desperate – or just greedy –" why's he smirking at _Cuphead_ like that? "enough to sign the deed. How'd ya think Wheezy got himself bummed in here? Chips? Mangosteen? Pirouletta?"

Cuphead lets that sink in, looking across the tables as Dice lists off the casino employees; he feels pretty dumb now for never really counting them. But of course there had to be others – this was the _Devil's_ business, he must've been collecting souls for who knows how many thousands, millions, billions of years, even if the casino hadn't been around that long. The obvious question dawns on him, and he turns back to Dice.

"So what about you? How'd you sign _your_ contract?"

" _My_ contract?" he repeats, arching an eyebrow. "Who says I even got one?"

Cuphead shrugs. "Well, if they all got one, figures he'd probably have you sign too. Must've taken an awful lot of dirty workin' your way up to right-hand man. How's a fella swing a job like _that_ , anyway?"

"That's not what I…" For the first time, King Dice hesitates, his near-permanent smile tightening and almost grinding his cigar between his teeth. It's the closest to a rise Cuphead's gotten out of him all night, and the brief flash of green in his eyes is both unnerving and weirdly satisfying. "Alright – listen, cupface..."

"It's Cup _head_."

"Couldn't care a cup less. This lil' tea party's been fun, but if you had _any_ idea what the boss'll do if he catches you here…"

Cuphead snorts, his mouth curling into a cocky grin with the image of Satan himself bawling like a baby still fresh in his mind. "Lemme guess – he'll cry?"

Dice blinks, and then he laughs – not the usual sinister snicker but louder, warmer, a little startled and surprisingly melodious. " _Yeah_ , he just might. But you better believe he'll do a whole bunch worse first."

"Sounds like _your_ problem more than mine. You're the one that let me back in here." Cuphead's pushing his luck hard and he knows it, but he's also genuinely curious – and suspicious – just what Dice is playing at. "So...why didn't ya just boot me out back there?"

Dice hums, drumming his fingers on the table like he's considering his answer carefully, or just keeping Cuphead hanging because he can. "Wheezy always goes in too rough. Too much of a ruckus don't look good for business. 'Sides…" He takes a long drag of his cigar, smile resuming its usual wickedness as he exhales right over Cuphead's rim, smoke ghosting past his straw and causing little ripples he just suppresses a shudder at, "who says I gotta let the boss have _all_ the fun?"

And with that, he disappears – literally, vanishing in a flash of purple into one of those dumb holes he liked to pop out of. No doubt off to charm some other poor sucker out of their coins before Cuphead can demand to know just what kind of "fun" he's planning on having.

It can't be good for Cuphead, he knows that much, unease lingering in the air with the cigar smoke as he coughs and wafts it away. Everything out of Dice's mouth sounds like a simultaneous promise and a threat, of much better and much, _much_ worse things to come for anyone brave or foolish enough to consider betting against him.

But to Cuphead, it also sounds an awful lot like a challenge – and he never was one to back down from a challenge.

* * *

The fourth, fifth, sixth times, Cuphead's stopped kidding himself he has a good reason for coming back.

He could be proving a point, showing Dice and his crew he can come and go as he pleases, but really that's just a bonus. Maybe he just likes to gamble, and it's actually kinda nice to walk in without the weight of Inkwell on his shoulders, no imminent brawls brewing, just another player here to win and lose and win again and do it all again the next time. He might even be developing – nothing as fancy as a _system_ , but he's learning to handle the dice a little more carefully, timing his throws rather than relying completely on dumb luck. The dice don't always do what he tells them to, but even the slightest edge of control gives him that little extra thrill every time he shoots, getting closer to playing the house at its own game.

Now he's a semi-regular, its so-called King doesn't bother coming out front to greet him personally any more. But he's always working the floor, running games, ordering around his employees, mingling with the customers and just...watching. He'll saunter by the tables, join in with the raucous whoops and hollers and even go in for a congratulatory slap on the back if Cuphead's on a winning streak – nothing more than he would with any of his regulars, but it's all part of his game. It's gotta be, the way he hovers just a little bit too close while Cuphead makes his move, appraising him with a low, thoughtful hum that takes him right back to when there was so much more to play for.

Spitting 8-balls and cackling rabbits and enormous, deadly skilled fingers that could've shattered both him and Mugman in a single flick, but preferred to toy with them instead, dealing out an army of cards for them to ceaselessly counter until the hand was finally empty.

Other nights, he's not nearly as subtle; like when Cuphead's just about to shoot and Dice, from the next table over, rotates his head fully and _winks_. An unexpected, electric shiver tingles down his spine and the dice practically fly out of his hand and into the air before bouncing off the wall.

He hits the point, the table erupts in cheers, and Cuphead's not quite sure what the heck just happened.

He's not about to let it spook him, though – if anything, he's more on edge when he _hasn't_ seen Dice all night, wondering if he's off planning some twisted revenge. So he's weirdly relieved to spot him leaning against the wall by the bar when he goes to grab a drink between games.

"Hey, Dice."

He doesn't look up, busy shuffling through a deck of cards. "That's _King_ Dice to you, wheat."

"What's with the title, anyway? Is that actually your name, or did it come with the contract?"

"Like hell it did!" That gets Dice's attention, his head and tone rising to the challenge as he slides the cards back into his suit pocket. "I been King since long before the boss – before all this," he catches himself, fluttering a hand back towards the casino floor. "Where I come from, respect ain't just handed out with some fancy piece of paper. A name like mine means something, and it means you _earned_ it."

Cuphead cocks his head, intrigued; somehow, he can't imagine Dice without the casino. He _is_ the casino: slick and sleazy and seductive, dazzling yet dangerous, like he'd been tailored to fit the place as perfectly as his fancy suit. It's strange to think he might've once been just a regular fella, looking for a break. "So just where _did_ you come from?"

He gets nothing but a sharp, enigmatic chuckle in return. "Nice try, kid. Story time's over." He slips into the empty seat next to Cuphead, crossing one leg over the other, and nods towards the whiskey bottle bartender – if you can call him that – who's slumped on the floor snoring loudly. "You lookin' for a job over here? Fancy mixin' up some martinis in ya head?"

"Huh? Oh…" Cuphead touches his rim, suddenly self-conscious, and barks out a loud, sarcastic laugh to cover it. "Gee, you're hilarious, I never heard _that_ one before. That's not how it works, y'know – I can't just pour anything in there."

"No? Too bad – mighta actually made yourself useful around here for once." Dice squints at the top of his head; Cuphead attempts to evade his curious gaze by sticking his chin as far in the air as it'll go, short of actually taking his head off. "Whatcha brewin' in there, then?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know."

"I'm sure there's ways I could find out."

It's far from the first time folks have asked what's in his head, but none of them were looking at him like _that_ before, a devious, almost predatory gleam under shiny purple half-lids; Dice leans just the slightest bit closer and Cuphead feels a little like something's continuously parrying his insides – for a moment, he thinks he really might just grab him by the handle and take a slurp of his very soul.

"...But I don't drink on the job."

He sits back, tongue licking across his bottom lip slow and deliberate, and – oh, _boy_. Cuphead feels the heat of vulnerability rush to his cheeks as he desperately wills his head not to bubble, faltering for a comeback.

"Yeah! I mean, _no!_ I mean – you can't drink – I'm not…" Dice just keeps on smirking, like he's drinking up every second of making Cuphead squirm, and he _hates_ him. "That'd be like if _you_ just popped your head off all the time. Oh, wait – you do."

"I _can_. If you get real lucky." Dice adjusts his bow tie, and Cuphead senses an opportunity to turn the tables.

"You ever play with it here? How far does it throw? C'mon, show me! For old times' sake?"

He risks a wink and Dice rolls his eyes – though not his head – but his huff is more amused than annoyed. "No, genius, we don't play with it. Ya think I'd let any Joe Blow get his grubby mitts all over _this_ face?" He preens, smoothing his moustache and stroking a glove over the side of his head. "Least, none of 'em have been fool enough yet to try it."

Cuphead grins, because _that's_ a challenge if he ever heard one, and before he can think better of it he hops off his chair, landing in Dice's lap before he can get away, and grabs his head. He's – surprisingly soft, edges firm but skin warm under his gloves, not hard, shiny plastic like a regular die. His head doesn't budge when he tugs at it, fingers sliding clumsily into the slim space between his head and suit.

Dice doesn't push him off, just scoffs until Cuphead's finger inadvertently traces the smooth dip of a pip on the bottom of his head, right where his neck should be. He jerks at the touch and seizes the front of Cuphead's shirt, yanking them both roughly upright.

"Hey, hey, _hey!_ " he snarls, low and guttural; Cuphead grabs onto the lapels of his suit for balance, which forces their faces dangerously close, Dice's moustache almost tickling his nose as it fills with the overpowering scent of expensive cologne and tobacco. "Nobody ever teach ya not to touch what you can't afford?"

"B-boy, someone's _touchy_ tonight," Cuphead fires back, slight stutter betraying him as the warning flash of emerald in Dice's eyes makes his blood run somehow both hot and cold. "Guess you're not big on dice control."

"Think you're real funny, don't ya? Well –"

"Boss!" Wheezy's scratchy voice interrupts whatever Dice's about to threaten him with, and they both freeze as he makes his way over. "I'm goin' on break – do you wanna deal the next…" He trails off as his eyes flicker between Dice and Cuphead in their slightly compromising position,

and his thick brows shoot up, somewhere between incredulous and wary.

"Am I, uh. Interrupting something…?"

Just for a second, Dice's tough-guy swagger dissolves; his eyes widen to comical proportions like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Cuphead thinks he might just burst out laughing until without any warning, Dice lets go of him and an embarrassing squeak spills out instead as he lands flat on his butt – nothing hurt, except his dignity.

"Nothin' at all. Be right there." Dice's usual cool, controlled smirk slides smoothly back into place, but Cuphead swears his cheeks are just a tad pinker than usual as Wheezy shrugs and heads past them towards the bar. Smoothing down his suit, he catches Cuphead's eye and salutes.

"Better luck next time, huh, pally?"

Dice shoots him one last wink, like he's just daring Cuphead to follow as he walks away, back to his court. He glares at his retreating back, just for good measure, uncomfortably aware of his heart thumping so fast under his now-wrinkled shirt that he has to glance down to check it isn't jumping right out of him. Butterflies dance in his stomach, stirring up a confusing cocktail of fear and adrenaline and something he can't put a name to yet, something deeper and hotter and somehow more exciting and terrifying than anything else he's felt within these walls.

No doubt about it, it's true what they all say: that King Dice is nothing but trouble.

Trouble is, he's starting to look like the kind of trouble Cuphead just can't stay out of.


End file.
